Entranced by Lightning
by Chowlini
Summary: Harry's most pronounced feature – his scar – was accented beautifully by the light, giving him a mysterious air that was rather attractive, Ron found himself thinking. *** Ron/Harry Fanfic taking place at the end of the 6th year.
1. Chapter 1

**Entranced by Lightening**

"_Stop it_," A fiery red-head hissed harshly, his freckled face distorted with obvious annoyance.

Beside him on a vintage, scratchy couch, a young girl with luminescent, brown eyes and frizzy dark hair raised her thick eyebrows curiously. "Stop what?" Her voice flowed out of her shining pink lips, which were pulled downwards in a frown of momentary discourage.

The boy next to her waved her away with his hand, clearly irritated, though he did not move his face to look at her. His blue gaze was determinedly pinned across the room, toward another couple whose lips were locked in a passionate kiss.

The room that four of them were seated in was small and cozy, giving off a welcoming and familiar glow. A few couches and large, lounging seats were scattered across the room in front of an old-fashioned fireplace. Beneath the clawed legs of the furnishings lay an ancient rug, dusty from time, with red yarn feathering its edges. The Hogwarts crest, barely visible as the material was so worn, was sewn into the ratty carpet. Though difficult to see it was clear that, in its prime, the rug was an elaborate piece of material, and a treasured family heirloom. Against the walls were shelves of books that looked to be untouched for centuries. Few of the books were pulled inches from their original place, however, and fingerprints lay imprinted on their spines. On the ceiling, a chandelier was hooked by a single chain and dangled feebly above the rug; wobbling each time a foot touched the worn, oak wood that composed the floorboards.

Not easily put out, the girl seated beside the red-head leaned in toward him again, her sweet lips puckered, preparing to steal a kiss upon his slightly parted mouth. At last the boy broke his gaze, slowly shifting his blue eyes upon her approaching figure. A look unlike his character had erupted on his usually gentle face; his eyes were an icy blue, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth closed and strained as far as it could possibly go downward. "I said no, Hermione," He said with finality in his voice.

Tears began to leak out of Hermione's eyes when she peeled open her brown eyes to look into his face; his look of anger surprised her immensely and, what was more, stabbed her in the heart. "Wh-wha…what did I do wrong, Ron?" She asked meekly as a tear rolled down her cheek and past her neck, landing in the dip of her collar bone and shoulder.

At the sight of her tears, the irritability in Ron's face faltered and was quickly replaced with regret as his heart tinged with guilt. "It isn't you…" His voice trailed off, lost for words, his mind coming to a stop.

This was true - it wasn't her.

With a fake smile, he took her small hand in his own larger one, drawing his thumb back and forth lightly over her fair skin. She smiled weakly, moving closer to him. Another sharp stab of guilt pierced his heart. Hermione's eyes traveled from their intertwined hands to his softened eyes, but he could not force himself to meet her gaze. Instead, Ron found himself peering at the other couple again, his staring masked by a sheath of red hair.

The next day, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny traveled down the stairs, greeted by the delectable wafting scent of cooking sausages, steaming hot pancakes, and freshly-peeled oranges. The big eater instantly emerged from Ron like a starved werewolf; he flashed a grin toward Harry, who returned a hungry smile back, and the two of them rushed past the two girls, whom were deep in conversation, and into the kitchen were Ron's mother greeted them with a cheeky smile.

Her brown eyes were alit with cheer as she absentmindedly stirred a pot of boiling water with magic, her wand in her hand and her wrist in action. Ron, with a scent of smell like a hungry thestral, could easily determine that the steaming pot was filled with sausages in the process of being cooked to perfection.

"Take a seat, dears, take a seat!" In her over-motherly voice, she urged, he hand waving to the table with a plate in the center that was stacked miles high with fluffy, tan pancakes. Eagerly, the boys took seats next to each other and stared down the tower of food, which was bound to be delicious if it was cooked by Molly Weasley, they were sure. As they were swapping sneaky glances, the girls stepped into the room, their heads tightly pressed together as they discussed something obviously secret. Ginny occasionally frowned or gasped, "Oh!", and would then proceed to cover her mouth.

The boys payed them little mind, their brains set on food and nothing else. They were silently encouraging each other to try and snatch a pancake without Ron's mum catching them, though both were a bit scared to be caught. Usually, Molly had a strict policy of waiting for everyone to be seated at the table and the food to be done and served before eating could occur. Hungry as they were, however, they were desperate to find a way out of it. Finally, Ron gave in with a small nod and turned his blue eyes onto the glorious mound of pancakes. His mum's back was turned to them as she busily stirred; he reached a heavily freckled hand toward the pancake lying lazily on the top. Just as his fingers skimmed its soft edges, a hand slapped his own on cue. Ron's mum stood there with a hand on her hip, the other stretched over her shoulder in attempt to keep stirring. "Don't touch the food until it's all ready!" She scolded, her lips pursed in an annoyed sort of amusement.

Ron rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself a bit. Harry was gripping his gut and laughing quite hardily. "Oh, shut it!" Jokingly, his red-headed friend teased, pushing him in the shoulder. The force of his push was rather hard however, and Harry and his chair toppled right over.

Every one – with the exception of Molly – burst out in laughter until each of their ribs ached. On the other hand, Molly had rushed to his side, pushing up his chair and gazing at him with wide, terrified eyes. Her hand was on her chest, trying to regulate her breath.

"Oh! _Harry!_ Are you alright, sweetie?" More laughter erupted from the others, ignoring the sharp pains in their ribs. "You didn't hurt yourself…did you?"

Harry righted his glasses; he too was laughing. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley!" He exclaimed through bursts of chuckles. She nodded, and then scurried off to finish cooking.

"I hope those sausages are ready soon," Ron said to Harry overly loud, hoping his mother would hear him.

"Oh, Ron, hush! They're just about done."

A smirk unfurled on Ron's face as he glanced back at his mother, who was strenuously multi-tasking; stirring the boiling water that contained the sticks of meat while turning off the oven, and trying to grab the strainer from the cabinet below. Hermione noticed her struggling and excused her self from her chair, walking over diligently to Mrs. Weasley.

"Need a hand?" Politely, she asked, looking up into her boyfriend's mother's eyes.

Mrs. Weasley grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, Hermione, you're so dear!" She oozed with joy. "Yes, just a bit of help…could you grab me my oven mits and the strainer, please?" Hermione nodded and smiled, then made her way over to the closet. There, she located the oven mits and grabbed them in one arm. The strainer was in the cabinet above the boiling pot of water. Standing on tip-toe, she reached for the strainer and then set it down on the counter, the mits beside it.

"Anything else, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, her smile large, and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Mrs. Weasley was like a mother to her, and she would do anything to help out.

"Oh, no dear! You've helped enough," Mrs. Weasley reached out a hand and lightly patted the girl on the shoulder to show her appreciation. With another smile and a nod, Hermione turned back and walked toward the table, replacing herself in her seat.

Ron's stomach produced a loud growl that demanded to be sustained with food.

In the next moment, Mrs. Weasley fumbled over with a tray full of hot sausages. "Food's all ready!" She merrily chimed, placing the tray in front of the four. Immediately, Ron and Harry seized plates for themselves and spooned mounds of food onto them, while Mrs. Weasley poured freshly squeezed orange juice for each of them. Knife and fork in hand, Ron and Harry dug in, only stopping for a sip of orange juice here and there.

When all that was left of the stacks of food were crumbs too small for even mice, Hermione and Ginny excused themselves to Ginny's room. Ron and Harry lingered in the kitchen for a good ten minutes, their hands over their full bellies. "Great breakfast, mum!" Ron called out cheerfully. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

After thanking Mrs. Weasley, the two of them stepped into the living room to relax on the scratchy lounging chairs. Ron nearly fell back into his, his blue eyes half-closed in a drowsy state. Harry leaned into one across from him. His green eyes – much like his mother's - were open wide as he looked out the window with interest. Soft light pouring in from the window landed perfectly on him, highlighting his well-carved face, causing light to dance in his eyes and making a slick shine on his hair. Harry's most pronounced feature – his scar – was accented beautifully by the light, giving him a mysterious air that was rather attractive, Ron found himself thinking.

**I'll _hopefully _be updating this soon! This fanfic won't be very long; at the most 5 chapters. Summer is fast approaching and I should be able to find time for my fanfics. Reviews are much appreciated! :)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two  
**

"Glad you came," Ron said to Harry, his lips curling into a smile.

They were sitting alone in Ron's bedroom; piles of boxes with old books and objects cluttered the room. Ron and Harry hadn't seen the floor since their second year. Cobwebs hung to the corners of the ceiling, dust clung in masses to the walls and lampshades. Light danced through the small window, lighting up the dinky space and the particles that gently swayed in the air.

"Me too," Harry agreed, staring out the window and waiting for Hedwig to return. She was always in and out, but for some reason, he longed to see her feathery white body come bursting into the cramped space. "The Dursleys are a pain in the arse to deal with for an entire summer."

As he recalled the memory of bursting through the fireplace into the Dursleys spotless home, Ron produced a soft chuckle that almost resembled a purr. "Nasty muggles they are, mate. I could hardly stand to spend twenty minutes in that house."

Both of them smiled, Harry laughed. "Yeah, they're a nasty bunch of people," His laughter suddenly died out of his chest, his emerald gaze falling to the remnants of the floor. Though he didn't say anything, Ron knew instinctively what he was thinking of; life if You-Know-Who hadn't killed Harry's parents.

Suddenly, the dust around the window began to stir as the loud _whoosh _of flapping wings filled Harry's ears. Immediately, his green eyes shot toward the window as a pure, snow-white body glided into the room. The owl landed between Ron and Harry on the bed, hooing softly toward her owner and holding out her leg.

Harry untied the ribbon that held the newspaper to the owl's leg, then reached into his pocket and dug out a small treat. "Thanks, Hedwig," He whispered affectionately to her as he ran his hand down her feathery back. Cooing, she nipped at his hand playfully before hopping across the suitcases to the stand where her cage sat in waiting.

He scanned across the black and white print, curling the edges with his fingers. "More junk," Absentmindedly, he groaned, his hands clenching.

Ron peered over Harry's shoulder and read the paper to himself. It didn't take long for anger to pulse through his veins, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Rita Skeeter…" He hissed.

Harry nodded, growling under his breath. "That foul woman. Insulting Dumbledore, filling everyone's heads with lies after he's dead!" Quickly, his voice rose into a mind-blowing roar as he threw the paper at the wall, mumbling swears under his breath.

"Calm down," Ron said softly, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Just then, the door slowly pushed open, and in came Ginny. Her hair was, as usual, a fiery red, and draped over her shoulders. She walked in, even though Ron glared at her, and came to sit on the bed next to Harry.

"You all right?" Ginny asked, folding her hands in her lap and looking up into his eyes. "I heard yelling."

Harry shrugged, though a smile began to unfold across his face. "Yeah," He answered, taking her hand in his own. Sure, the two had broken up, but their feelings for each other hadn't died in the slightest.

At Harry's back, Ron began to flare up. His face flushed a bright red as he glared at the two. He'd finally had some alone time with Harry, and Ginny had to come steal it from him? Honestly. Infuriated, he rose abruptly from the bed and stomped from the room and down to the kitchen, no doubt looking for some comfort food.

"What's his problem?" Ginny moaned as she watched his figure leave.

Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. "He doesn't like me to be with you," He answered. "I don't like to make him mad, but he's with Hermione, isn't he? What if I didn't like that?"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, nodding her head slowly. "_I_ sure don't like him with her. But Hermione's my best friend, and if that makes her happy, then it's not my business. I wish he thought the same about you and me."

"Agreed," Harry said, looking down into her gaze. She had the prettiest blue eyes…not too vibrant, but soft and delicate. A gray blue that just got Harry's mind reeling. They contrasted so well with her ginger hair, and her freckled skin. Hesitantly, Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her frame close to his own. She was so warm against his skin he could feel it through his t-shirt.

Ginny leaned against him, a small smile on her face. She locked her eyes on his, those stunning emerald eyes. Just like his mother's, as they said. Well, if that was true, then Lily must have had the most entrancing gaze. It was as though they had some sort of enchantment, because she couldn't bear to take her own eyes off them.

"Gin…" Harry whispered as he ran his hand down her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. He grinned, and then bent his head closer to hers. She could feel his breath running down her neck. Heavy breathing, anxious breathing…she watching his lips, slightly parted, as the air passed through them.

Slowly, she brought her eyes back up to meet his, only to find his lips slip over her own. Her body tensed, suddenly nervous, she didn't know why. They'd done this before, she'd kissed him before…but for some reason, she felt like this would be the last in a long time…

Harry could feel her tense against him; he ran his hand up her back and to her jaw, where both hands met. One ran through her ginger locks, the other cupping her face. This kiss was special; he knew that he'd have to leave soon to pursue the Horcruxes. He wanted this moment to be wonderful, to last. Ginny had her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing herself further into him. Though he knew she was nervous, he also knew she loved to be with him; she wouldn't let a moment like this go to waste.

After awhile she pulled away from him, her breath quicker than before. Her chest rose and fell with speed as she gathered her thoughts, looking down at her lap. Harry was smiling above her, still holding her close to him as he reveled in the moment.

At last, she looked up at him once more, taking a large breath as she gathered the courage to speak. "I want to come with you."

"What?"

"I know you're leaving…and I may not know why, but I want to come with you. You're going to need help, and I can help you-"

"No," Harry interrupted, pushing himself a bit away as he gripped her by the shoulders. He stared directly into her eyes, his smile completely vanished. "You can't come with me. You'll get-"

Ginny interrupted this time, her face beginning to glow red as a hot anger boiled under her skin. "I'll get hurt? And you won't? What about Ron and Hermione?" She clenched her fists, the skin on her knuckles turning white. "They won't get hurt either? You think you're invincible Harry, but truth of the matter is that we'll all get hurt no matter what."

"You're wrong," Harry growled, his eyes clouded over with what looked like sadness and remorse. He closed them, taking in a large, slow breath. "If you stay here, you'll be safer than if you're with me. Ron and Hermione might get hurt, but they know what they've signed up for. You don't, Gin." She made to interrupt him, but he silenced her with a shake of his hand. "And I can't tell you; I swore to Dumbledore I wouldn't tell anyone else."

"Dumbledore is _dead_, Harry. You don't have to keep that promise anymore. You can tell me, and I can come wi-"

Harry glared at her with the most rage Ginny had ever seen in his eyes. His hands were clamped so tightly around her shoulders as if he was going to shake her violently, and he stared into her eyes without blinking. "You think it's alright to break promises once a person dies, huh?" Ginny averted her eyes, barely shaking her head as if to say 'no'. She knew she shouldn't have said that once it had come out…

"No, Harry, I don't. I'm sorry, I just…"

"I know, Gin," Harry groaned as he released her, staring blankly at the wall. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, but you just can't come…I can't risk you getting hurt," His voice wavered as he wrapped his arm around her once again, pulling her close.

From outside the room, a shadowed figure grunted in repressed anger. His fiery hair was a mess across his face, his blue eyes cold and clouded as he gazed at the two sitting together. Inside him, a feeling that was not new to him bubbled in his stomach…envy like he'd never felt before. Why couldn't he be in Ginny's place? Snug in the warmth of Harry's body, his arm protectively wrapped around him…

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had a huge writer's block while writing this, so I'm sorry if you don't like it. :( Also, I know that by now Hedwig is dead, but in this fanfiction she never died. Sorry if you don't like that. ^^" Don't forget to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"The wedding is tomorrow, you know," Hermione said in her usual know-it-all tone, busily folding Ron's clean clothes as she spoke. Her hair was even frizzier than usual, and there were small bags under her eyes. All in all, she looked frail and possibly ill. Trying to hide it, she smiled, and continued her work, her mind racing with all the questions she could ask Ron at this moment.

Ron glanced briefly at her; lately, he could hardly bare to meet her eyes. Once, not long ago, he'd looked at her with such fondness, such adoration…but now, the feelings had vanished. All he could feel for her now was a strong bond of friendship. The small remnants of his love for her still constricted his chest, making it hard to even breathe when he attempted to speak to her face.

"I know," His voice came after a few moments. It was unlike him, stiff and cracking in mid-sentence.

Hermione caught this; she'd noticed him progressively changing over the past weeks. At first, it was only small things. Ron wouldn't meet her eyes when they talked, or the fact that he was becoming very lazy when they kissed. Eventually, it got worse, to the point where they hardly ever came to physical contact. She hadn't kissed him in an entire week, let alone even seeing the front of his head.

It took a lot of nerve to speak to him about this, but she knew it had to be done. Slowly, she put down the blue shirt she was folding and approached him, twiddling her thumbs in all her anxiety.

"Ron?"

At first, Ron pretended not to hear her, continuing to fold the clothes and place them on the couch in their living room. It was awkward to have her that close to him; once, he would have enjoyed her close company. Now, it was like a burden, just lingering over his body.

Hermione cleared her throat, speaking louder this time. "Ron, can I talk to you? Please? It's important." She placed her hand on his shoulder, pulling herself a little bit closer to him.

Ron sighed aloud, finally speaking, but not turning to face her. "Sure. What do you want?"

She figured it was probably just her being sensitive, but the harshness in his tone made her step back a little, offended. "It's just…I was wondering why you've been acting so strangely lately. Is it my fault? Did I do something?"

Suddenly, at her words, he could feel the muscles in his body contract. Unable to move, hardly able to breathe, he stood at a loss for words. Ron couldn't come out with the truth. He couldn't tell her that he'd fallen out of love with her, and she'd been replaced in his heart by none other than his best friend; the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Um…" Ron started, desperately searching the edges of his mind for an answer. Finally, something hit him. And thought it might not have been the best, it was the only excuse he had. "I've just been so caught up in the Horcruxes and the wedding that I haven't really been myself," He lied, raising an arm and scratching the back of his head as he turned to face her.

Hermione smiled up at him, happy to know he was speaking to her. True, he wasn't meeting her eyes, but right now she didn't care. She could see his face, his misty blue irises and his freckled skin, and of course his fiery red hair. All of it just made her lips curl upward with satisfaction. Ron was hers, and nobody could take him away from her. "It's alright, I understand," Softly, Hermione whispered, feeling close to him once again. She reached down and took his hands in her own, pressing her body against his chest and basking in his warmth.

All at once, the muscles in his body contracted even further, to the point where he couldn't function. Ron just stood there, stiff as a board while the woman that he once loved lay against him. He had to pretend, had to at least make it believable that what he said was true. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and rested it on her head, stoking her brown hair awkwardly.

Nothing in Hermione's mind could make this moment any better. Finally, after weeks without any contact at all, she and her boyfriend were finally acting like a couple. She looked up into his eyes, flashing him an adoring grin. After a few minutes she let go of his hand, reaching hers up to his jaw where she cupped his face in the warmth of her palm.

"I love you, Ron…" In the softest of whispers, Hermione's voice unfolded from her pink, pursed lips. Ron's were half parted in awe; everything was happening so fast, he couldn't control what was happening. In fact, he was so stunned, that all he could do was stand there and gawk at her.

Why was she doing this to him? Over the past few weeks, he'd tried to send the message that they were ov-…that things weren't the same between them anymore. And he felt that it was best to be simply friends again.

Clearly Hermione hadn't got the message. Here she was, pressed against him, admitting her love for him with long, batting eyelashes. There was no will power in him to lie to her, to tell her that he loved her back when it wasn't true. Besides, Weasleys were notoriously known for being terrible liars. He sighed and looked away, hoping it would distract her for just a moment, long enough for him to get out of there and back to his work.

Just to his luck, it didn't work. In fact, the situation only got work. Apparently, Hermione took that sigh as an "I don't want to wait anymore, kiss me already" sigh. She wrapped both of her arms around his neck and dived in for the kiss, seizing his unprepared mouth with practiced lips.

The strange thing about Hermione was that a person would assume that a bookworm like her wouldn't be such a passionate lover. But anyone who assumed that was dead wrong. Sure, Hermione loved her books, but she put down the books if a chance for love strolled into view. And no book could teach her to kiss the way she did; that was the practice of much lip-locking previous.

Ron was caught off his guard; all at once, she'd pounced for the kill, knocking him off his feet and onto the old, worn couch with a _thud_. All of the clothes he'd worked so hard to fold fell to the floor beneath them as she wedged herself between his knees, her kisses growing more vigorous by the second. He wasn't even kissing her back, just staring at her eyelids as she dug her nails into his shoulder blades.

"_Think, Ron, think_..._" _His mind repeated, scolding him for even letting himself get into this situation. Suddenly, and without warning, he kissed her back; his lips slipped over hers with one swift movement and he held her to close to his chest. Why, of all things, was this his only solution? If he hadn't kissed her back, she would have noticed, and wouldn't have believed his earlier statement. So, with all the courage the young Gryffindor lion could muster, he locked lips with Hermione for yet another moment, keeping up his charade for as long as he had to for it to be believable.

Finally, Ron pulled away and smiled falsely at her, his body wobbling from head to toe. "Well…" Stumbling for words, he looked down at his hands, slightly frowning. He felt positively _sick_. That move he just pulled was something he could easily picture Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin prince, performing. With a sigh, he weaseled out from between the couch and Hermione, rising to a standing position. Ron straightened his shirt and turned to look at her awkwardly before returning to folding his clothes – and refolding the clothes that had fallen during their kiss.

Hermione smiled at him fondly, batting her eyelashes and fiddling her fingers together. Ron's silence made her unnerved, but she decided not to push him further. With a last grin at him, she turned and made for the doorway, her happiness from the kiss evident in her steps. "I'm going to go help your mum outside. I'm sure she'll send Ginny in or something to help you with the clothes," With that, she left the living room. He listened to her steps as they gradually faded, then stood, groaning into the air with slumped shoulders.

"_Why me?_" Ron moaned to the ceiling, covering his temples with his hands and pushing against his cranium with frustration. "I wish I could tell her the truth, but it just isn't that simple. Everything I've come to know would change. I love Hermione…but not like I used to. How can I tell her that I've fallen out of love with her and into love with…with Harry?"

Without warning, the sound of the hard soles of leather shoes echoed throughout the spacious, cozy home. Ron froze in place; he knew he'd been loud, but just how loud had he been?

Sweating nervously, he dropping his arms to his side and quickly went back to his work, hoping whomever walked in would think that they were merely hearing things. His hands wobbled and shook each time they move, he could hardly stand. All of this anxiety got went straight to him, to the point where he was certain that whoever walked in here would know it was him who shouted minutes before.

Finally, after dramatically increasing in volume, the sound of footsteps ceased. By the sound of it, Ron guessed the owner of the shoes had stopped in the doorway. Only one way to find out. Slowly, he turned, step by step, until the person in question was in view.

A tall and handsome young man dressed to the nines was leaning against the door frame, his long, black hair a mess, as usual, atop his head. Clothing his body was a slender, frame-fitting black tuxedo. In a pocket on the left of his chest, a green handkerchief peeked over the black cloth, matching the green dress shirt that was visible at his collar. On his shoes, the source of the noise; black, leather boots that were only just shined.

The worst possible person to stand at the doorway was there, leaning on the frame with a soft smile. It was none other than the Boy-Who-Lived himself. It was Harry James Potter.

**Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, but I've had an _extremely_ busy summer. I know you guys wanted more, though, so here you go! Don't forget to review, it makes me want to right more for you guys! :)**


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